Through
by Galan
Summary: Observations of a troubled man.


This piece was inspired by "Lost In the Darkness", one of the most touching songs from _Jekyll & Hyde._ I own nothing, etc.

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**Through**

Every night, he had lain as he did now, motionless on his back, his arms flat against either side of his body. Nearly a corpse, but a body of flesh void of breath did not trace the posters extending from the bed frame, staring at the ceiling with eyes half closed in the unrelieved exhaustion of sleeplessness.

Did he wish for that stillness or that emptiness? Sometimes, when she let her gaze fall on him, she wondered. For nearly a year she had found herself here these nights, each evening until morning lasting longer than the one that preceded it. Sometimes she wondered if he desired to be with her once again. Did it matter the price to him? Their children entirely alone as if neither of them had ever been in the world but to give them life, as though they had merely produced each child to abandon them in turn. Tears might have run down her cheeks a year before, hot on cold skin. But not now.

Never now.

At times, she had watched him during the day, seen him restless before his papers or books, impatient at the sounds of their children. Once, many months before at this time of night, she had reached out a hand to close his eyes, only to discover her hand fading the nearer she came to him. Disappearing, no more than the wraith she was. Never once in this entire year had she touched his skin, not even to slide her fingers through the tears he had shed in those first months to match those she remained unable to weep.

Her mouth no longer had any words when she opened it, like death had stolen her tongue along with her life. Or were words only for those still with the breath to give them life? She had no life to give; yet if she found a way to speak, would he have heard her at all?

No. A shadow and a cool breath of wind, sudden and unexpected in the world he inhabited—nothing more and perhaps less. Did it do her any good to watch him each night as he refused to rest? Only another regret, another wish, another dream of her life wandering onto another path—a useless hope that her life had gone any way but this that she now traversed. A burning ravaged her eyelids, those tears she could not shed welling as they had in her life.

He still lay only on his half of the bed they had shared, as if he waited for her to return, still allotting a space to her. _Please, don't_, she thought, reaching out her hand like those many months before with her fading fingers. _Don't live in what has been, Georg._

Her husband shifted, an unanticipated movement, and it brought him closer to her hand and her five long, thin fingers that ached to clutch his again. His lips parted, hardly more than for a breath, but again it surprised her. "Agathe," he whispered.

_No,_ she thought, shaking her head and the thick locks of hair around her face. _Not for me, never for me, Georg._ But his eyes drooped now, as if the exhaustion had overtaken the insomnia of his confined restlessness. In spite of the burning in her eyes, she smiled, the expression pained and joyful at once. Whenever his eyes closed, he had only a few minutes before sleep came to him, and only for a few hours had he lain here this evening. Most often, he gazed up at nothing until the dawn had only two or three hours to prepare for its emergence.

_Until the rosy-fingered Dawn creeps over the horizon,_ she thought, the Homeric words strange to her as it was her own form. Beautiful words for an ugly occurrence that haunted him through each evening into the next day. _But please, sleep._

No, he would never hear a word of hers now, perhaps just a hiss. Nothing else. _I'll be here,_ she wished to say, opening her mouth even as she knew only that empty breath would be the result. _I shall be here until you awaken._ Her half of their bed called to her but she could not even sit on it, the sheets like fire on her hands and legs. Not because of the form she inhabited now but the memories. Every remembrance of what she had lost, running through her another time, more painful than the journey she had already taken.

She could never join him again, but if she waited here with him...perhaps she would see the end of these things. Her hand stretched out on its own will, the fingers extended toward his cheek another time: a vague wisp brushed his skin, its warmth foreign to her. _I will wait here,_ she thought again, drawing back her arm. _Until you no longer need me._

With a heavy blink, Agathe brushed her hand on her leg; the world of the living had no place in the world of the dead. _She_ had no place here, but she remained just the same, for she needed to see him through all of this, even if just to watch from this distance. _Come through, my love._ But for how long would he still require her to be with him? Oh, she hoped to never fade from his memory—she loved him too dearly for that and hoped his own love for her never vanished—but to be with him as a part of the world in which he lived...No.

Before her, he moved onto his side to lie with his back to her, as though he saw her—and turned away from her. Certainly not that, though, for how could he see her? And even if he did, her husband would never turn away from her as he did now. No, just a motion that meant nothing. His breathing was the same as it had ever been, reaching the slow in and out of his near sleep, quiet and nearly peaceful. Yet she knew he did not have that peace, for it was impossible with the way she had seen him for the past year. All an act, a charade of some sort that would make any person weep! Like he thought he might hide from her.

From everything.

But it could only be a matter of time until the end had come, until his darkness had lifted for a new morning. When that day arrived, then she would no longer be here. She would have her peace, as would he. _Just wait, _she thought, hoping in spite of her certainty that he might hear her. _It will pass, dearest._

It must, and soon.


End file.
